


Drunken Lullabies

by BelovedCreation



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:17:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3555731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedCreation/pseuds/BelovedCreation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Storybrooke does St. Patrick’s Day. For BK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Lullabies

There are two hundred tiny, jiggling cups of lime jello in the refrigerator.

Emma opens the fridge on the morning of March 17th and immediately has to shut the door for a moment before she can look again (just to make sure she isn't having a pre-coffee hallucination). She blinks, brushes a few crusty bits from the corner of her eye, and finally takes a step away from the refrigerator. 

"Mom?" She yells over her shoulder, looking for the women in question. "Is your class having some sort of St. Patrick's Day theme party requiring massive amounts of jello?"

Mary Margaret pokes her head out from the bathroom and smiles, toothbrush dangling from her lips and a bit of minty foam escaping from her mouth. "No, honey," she says. "Those are for the party tonight."

"Party tonight?"

"Didn't we tell you?" David chuckles into his morning java and Emma starts to wonder when she became the last person who learns anything around here. "We're having a St. Patrick's Day party tonight. Here."

"Ah." Emma squints at the two hundred cups of jello. "And these are jello shots aren't they?"

Her mother walks out of the bathroom with a shiny, mischievous grin. "You bet your ass they are."

(It really should have been then that she realized how the night was bound to go.)

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

The night goes like this: Everyone gets drunk.

 _Everyone_.

Emma can count no more than twenty people crowded into the loft (the usual crew of dwarves and hero-types) and yet the two hundred jello shots are gone before Emma has had more than three. The long line of liquors and beers on the counter, with an impressive focus on Irish whiskeys, disappear so fast that if not for her mother's disturbing dance on said counter and the passed-out dwarf in the corner of the room, Emma would think that the bottles were being poured down the drain in pairs.

Its been far too long since Emma's been able to let go and enjoy getting wasted. When you're alone, you have to be careful. Watch your drinks, watch your levels. Make sure you're safe to go home. Make sure you're safe to defend yourself against the creeps and the assholes. More often than not, she'd picked up a few bottles of wine on her way home from work and spent her weekends in her apartment in Boston drinking herself into a haze with only Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan for company.

But with her son and her brother both safely being watched by responsible, sober parties for the evening, Emma finds a rogue jello shot, digs her forefinger around the edge of the wriggling confection to dislodge it, and throws her head back to let it slide down her throat. It settles low in the heat of her stomach with the whiskey and coke and couple beers.

She smiles.

"Are you enjoying yourself, love?"

His low voice, laced with seduction and desire, makes warmth spread lower in her belly and across her thighs and Emma can feel her face flush. The alcohol is making her mind tumble lazily over images of other nights with Killian, ones much more private but just as intoxicating. His hand firm on her breast, the press of his hook against her hip, his mouth brushing kisses along her neck...

"I'm having a blast," Emma deadpans, tilting her bottle of beer toward the table where her parents are playing poker with Will and Leroy and the red strap of Mary Margaret's bra still peeks out from her earlier table dance. "There's nothing like seeing your parents totally trashed to give you humiliating memories."

Killian chuckles and joins her at the window seat, his arm curling automatically around her waist and she tucks herself close, head on his shoulder. Its comfortable, being here with him, watching the insanity of another Storybrooke celebration on the side of the room. They’re not ones for participating, the two of them (much to the chagrin of her parents, who love to throw a party). And then she suddenly realizes then that all of their previous festivities have been after the defeat of a bad guy or a return from another world. Its nice to know that, this time at least, they can have the joy without suffering first.

"Something tells me that tonight's memories shan't be  _all_ humiliating."

(His accent becomes thicker when he's had a few to drink and Emma suspects that Killian is just as smashed as the rest of the crowd, though he may be better at disguising it.)

"Hey, you got anything left in that flask of yours? I just finished my drink." She sets the empty bottle on the ground and fumbles in his jacket, her fingers clumsy and the senses dulled. The world has grown a little fuzzy around the corners and Emma knows she is speaking louder than necessary, even in the full room, but Killian gives her an adoring smile when she finds the flask and its nice, those smiles of his. She wants to put them in her own jacket pocket and pull them out on days when he finds it hard to be happy.

The smile grows and Emma starts to think that she's been staring at him for a little too long. (But she doesn't care.) (This is supposed to be a perk of dating the guy. She can admit she likes staring at him.) So she kisses him so she can capture that smile for herself. Maybe if she touches her lips to his she can absorb the knowledge of how to make him never stop smiling.

He tastes like artificial lime and she's pretty sure she knows where most of those jello shots went.

"Do you have mixed drinks back in the Enchanted Forest?" she asks when she's pulled away and licked her lips to gather all the sweetness he transferred.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to, love."

Emma chuckles. "Did you have some of the jello shots?"

An eyebrow rises and he sets down his glass of whiskey to extract the flask from her fingers and uncork it with his teeth, deep blue eyes hooded with a familiar desire. He hands the flask to her and pulls the stopper from his mouth. "Are you referring to the green substance with healing properties? I ate several of the cups before I drank any libations. I assumed that they were to ward off hangovers."

Her laughter is so loud that most of the room turns to look at her, doubled over and hysterical, a confused Killian by her side.

* * *

 

"We have to be quiet," Emma whispers, a giggle caught in her throat as the buzz continues to float through her system, making her muscles soft and her eyes unfocused. Her parents had snuck out of the party early, leaving Emma and Killian to deal with the last few drunkards who weren't so good at picking up hints. But now, sprawled across her bed with a pirate's lips and hand making their way down her naked body, she has never been so happy to be tipsy in her life.

Every brush of his fingers and trace with his tongue sends soft messages of arousal between her thighs. Killian's a little uncoordinated, the alcohol clearly affecting him, but its pleasant, this sleepy, sloppy lovemaking. His knuckles run across her folds as his tongue circles her nipple lazily, in no hurry to do anything more than make her warm and wet.

When he finally spreads her legs and lines himself up, he misses the mark the first time and she erupts into a giggling fit that he gets sucked into as well, the pair of them covering one another's mouths to keep from waking her parents up.

(Another experience of the adolescence she never had.)

(Its _wonderful_.)

She rolls him onto his back to try again, pumping his hardness several times to restore what the laughter had lost. When he enters her, she lets out a groan that echoes slightly in the loft and she titters again until an impatient thrust of his hips reminds her that they are up to  _serious business_  here.

(He's so damn cute when he's annoyed.)

It doesn't take long for her to fall apart, the booze helping to carry her most of the way and his familiar scent and touch, the press of his hook on the small of her back and his finger against her clit finishing the job. She shudders and cries out silently, her toes curling before she collapses. Emma almost sighs in contentment when she realizes that he has stopped moving, his pounding heart and softening cock letting her know that he fell over the edge along with her.

She passes out immediately, stretched across his chest and delightfully drunk.

* * *

 

When she wakes in the morning, she is on her back and he is on his stomach, sprawled out on the other side of the bed, face pink and a boyish smile dancing on his lips. Her tongue is sandpaper in her mouth and she slides out of bed to put on a robe and sneak downstairs for a drink. She tiptoes down the stairs, hoping not to be caught running around naked.

With her naked pirate boyfriend in her room.

The curtain around her parents’ room remains drawn, and Emma thinks that maybe her mom and dad’s lack of experience with drinking for the past few years has worked in her favor. She pads back up the stairs with a full glass of water. The bed shifts as she slides back under the covers and Killian's large eyelashes flutter open, eyes bright and trusting.

(She wants to always be worthy of that trust. To be seen as a hero.)

(Just as she sees him.)

"Water?" she offers, because this feeling in her heart is too big for this early in the morning. He nods and sits up to take a sip.

"You're not hungover, are you?" she teases.

Killian glares over the glass, taking another gulp. "Hardly, love. In fact, I could keep drinking right now if there were any more bloody libations in this apartment."

"Alas," she sighs, taking the cup from him. "We're fresh out."

"Unless..." He raises and eyebrow and a moment later she can feel his rough hand sliding up her thigh and cupping her center, the simple touch making her damp with desire. "I could make do with refreshment of another kind..."

(He's much more coordinated in the sober light of morning and Emma  _really_  appreciates that.)


End file.
